Coach 
 
Chapter 1: From a mesa, tabela Away

Kids, you know your Uncle Barney; Scotch, money and women. Those three words pretty much summed up his life. He couldn't ask for a better life. Little did he know, he was about to get a rude awakening. You see, he had grown accustomed to this cycle, a carousel, if you will. It spun round and round until his life was completely changed by..."The Coach".



An unforgiving canopy of  charcoal  clouds hung above New York. They seemed detrimental; yearning to release their stockhold of transparent liquid. Rain. That's all it had done for the past week, rain. It came down in sheets, though it would occasionally sprinkle and barley nuvem up windows or dust over the bodies of cars. On this particular day, the storm had taken out almost half of the neighborhood's power. However, MacLaren's was open. They had a generator.  It was to be expected; Carl would do anything to keep it open. Especially during rain like this, it provided shelter for sober soaked strangers. 

Needless to say, the gang had gathered at the bar, in their usual booth, with their usual drinks, it was just a usual day. Well; besides the fact that Robin had disappeared for an unknown reason.  

"Why is the bar so packed today?"
Barney said as he elbowed his way back to his assento with the seguinte round. 

"It couldn't be because there's a massive blackout, right?" Ted chided in a slightly sarcastic tone. Ted had usually only talked that way when he was depressed or angry over something; or someone. 

"What's your problem?" Barney took a quick swig of his booze and placed his glass on the mesa, tabela with a click. His eyes quickly squeezed shut while the corners of his mouth drew back to reveal his teeth.  He shook his head around  violently, attempting to shake away the pungent sting in his mouth. Barney gagged again before he could regain his smoothed-over composure.  "What was in that? Battery acid?" 

"You alright, dude?" Marshall inquired as he pulled the square glass away from Barney.  He touched his nose on the brim and smelled. "Damn!" His face coiled up in the same way Barney's did. "The Scotch is a little overpowering." He wheezed. 
He pushed the glass as far as he could from himself. 

"As I was saying, Ted, what's wrong?" Barney straightened himself up.  Ted had just downed his last of three beers. He hadn't thought about how much he had to drink, he just kept tossing them back. Nobody knew it yet, but Ted was having a Robin relapse. This was one of those days where he would sit down and just think about all the things he did wrong and everything he could have changed.  Ted just shook his head and attempted to drink the very last few drops from the bottom of the bottle. Barney snatched the bottle from his mouth. Ted gave him a begrudging look of dissatisfaction. 

"Tell me what is wrong with you. Now." Barney spoke in a grave tone with equally dead eyes. 
"Nothing!" Ted snarled. 
"Ted, nobody mopes around and sucks on a bottle for hours besides babies. Are you a baby, Ted?" Barney teased, empty bottle still in hand. Ted sighed and retch for his cerveja bottle, he was stopped when Barney with the wiggle of his finger. 
"You really wanna know?" 

"C'mon! Out with it!" Lilly screeched from across the table, slamming her hands on the cold plastic surface.  Just as Ted opened his mouth to speak, in walked Robin.
"Hey guys..." 
The gang turned to find Robin, right arm in a snow white cast. She, like Barney had done, pushed her way through the crowded bar of people to their table. 
"Robin! What did you do?!"
Lily stumbled out of the booth, climbing nimbly over Marshall. Ted's face read utter shock and dismay. This seemingly concrete woman was like she was make of glass.  
"I slipped walking out of my apartment, from all this rain we've had." 
Lily sat Robin down, as if she was incapable of doing it on her own. Barney seemed unphased por the mishap, he was mais concentrated on the ungodly amount of alcohol in his Scotch and soda. He retch across the mesa, tabela to grab his glass and made his way to the bar. 

Barney scanned the room on his way to the bar. Barley any attractive women were in sight. It figured, the kind of women that he liked we all cooped up at início with their dogs, watching a sappy movie while wrapped up in a blanket.  They'd never leave the house during the storm of the  century. The point was, Barney had an interest in slutty women. And there appeared to be none present.  
"Excuse me," 
Barney stood at the right corner of the bar, leaned up on the counter topo, início with one elbow. 
"Scotch and soda please." 
Carl shook his head and pointed to a blonde girl at the corner of the bar. She had her legs crossed, head resting on her right hand while she stirred her drink. The woman casually picked up her drink and tossed the rest back, inhaling deeply as she set the glass back down. Barney couldn't help but cock a sly grin. He liked a woman who could handle their alcohol.  
"Why can't you-"
"Have you seen this bar?" 
Carl's voice was thick and toneless. "It's full, I needed help with drinks, so I called up an intern. Have her help you." Carl said as he ducked down to grab mais alcohol for the bar patrons. 

So, as he was told to do, Barney made his way to the blonde in the corner. As he approached her, he began to notice small things about her. Her hair wasn't bright and vibrant like most blondes. It was a bit darker, a light honey color. Her hair spiraled from her head in gold tresses; stopping at her shoulders. Her half-lidded eyes that were fixed on her empty  glass of ice were an ice blue with dark rims. Her lips were small and cute with an airbrushed rose color, the corners of her mouth drawing up slightly. 
"Excuse me, Miss?" 
Swag: On. Barney tried his best to honey his voice to try to sway her right off the bat.
"Not interested." 
She snapped quickly, cutting him off from asking his question.  The blonde stirred her ice again. 
"Not what I meant, my apologies. Barney Stinson." 
Barney smiled an stuck out his hand. She slid her eyes to his hand, though she had never made eye contact with him. 
"Why don't you just tell me what it is that you want?" 
Whiskey rolled off her breath. A tell-tale sign that she had been sitting at her barstool for quite a few hours. Her voice sounded slightly smoky, but not in the way of carcinogens. mais of the way that she was mysterious. She was trouble. Nobody loved trouble as much as Barney. 
"I was told you could help me with ...this." Barney held his glass toward her with a questioning look. She pursed her lips and nodded, taking the glass from him.
"What did you have?"
She walked behind the bar.
"Scotch and soda." 
She tilted her head and half smiled. 
"I made yours earlier. I'm sorry it was so strong. I didn't realize. I'm so sorry." She continued to apologize as she mixed the concoction together. 
"On the house. Again, I'm very sorry." 
She passed the drink across the counter with a pleading look in her eyes. They almost sank into her cheeks. 
"Don't worry about it, it's fine." 
He waved off the ordeal and sipped his drink.  She leaned across the bar with her head in her hands. 
"So, you're an intern, huh? How's that?"
Barney almost  choked on his own words. For the first time, he was making  casual conversation with a beautiful woman, and he was asking all the questions. It was almost as if he wasn't trying to sleep with her. 
"Not as glorious as you would think."
He just nodded. Barney studied his glass as he would usually do, and looked back at his friends. 
"You know, I never caught your name. "
The blonde's eyes pricked up and looked toward Barney. 
"Right...I'm-" 
Just as she opened her mouth, a loud  clap of thunder shook the foundation. The lights went out. 

"BARNEY!!!!!" 
He found himself on the floor, drink spilled on his new suit, a heavy presence atop him, and not to mention, in the dark.
"It's okay people, lights coming back on."
Carlos droned as the lights flickered to life. Barney found that Marshall had flung himself upon him, since he was still sort of afraid of the dark. As he stood up, and fixed himself, Barney found his glass and placed it back on the counter. 
"Sorry about-"  Barney attempted to finish his sentence; but the woman was nowhere to be found. "Was I really that bad to talk to?"